The Lima Syndrome
by 9randnote
Summary: A series of little somethings featuring Dave & Kurt, here, there and everywhen. Place holder until... until my Kurtofsky planets align and I can grind out something longer than a chapter.
1. Fit the First

_**Fit the First**_

_So I made the rookie mistake of posting a story here a few weeks ago, and then, in need of some prompting, taking a look around this ship to get a feeling for the pairing I favour. _

_Bad move._

_I have been simply blown away by some of the talent on display here- granted, some of you guys have some… interesting takes on things, but my preferences notwithstanding, I am more than a little intimidated by some of the stories I have read. I have literally spent hours reading some of these stories long into the night. If only my real job mesmerised me so._

_Anyhoo, so that foray left me more than a little blocked re: my own offering posted weeks ago. I'm suddenly not exactly sure what happens after Dave adds Kurt on Facebook, so I'm going to take my old lit professor's advice and __**'just write, dammit!'**_

_I've re-worked my first story crumb into the first of a series of one-shots- there's no connection between them other than the pairing of Dave and Kurt, which, good or bad, intrigues me deeply. _

_I think you guys call them drabbles. I dunno- I'm just going to drop them here in loose series until I come up with something I can run with. _

_As ever, I value your thoughts and ideas- I'm not sure my old lit professor is going to love these little things I eke out about a pair of mismatched fictional gay boys in a magical land called Glee- so, I'll take a little gleek 3 wherever I can find it._

_I own **nothing** referenced in whatever follows- so hopefully neither Ryan Murphy, nor the High Council of Timelords on Gallifrey, nor whomever else is roused from the depths of time and space by my bleatings will pursue legal action. _


	2. Kurt Hummel added you as a friend on

_Don't own Glee, don't own Facebook, Farmville or any of it. Don't even know what Six Flags is (a theme park, I'm guessing?) Anyway, this is set a few weeks after the last episode of Season 2 and I'm planning to take it all the way to the end of the vacation and maybe into Season 3 depending where it goes. Not a massive fan of smut, or excessive fluff, so don't expect that. Also don't expect Kurt to get pregnant or anyone to die- sorry MPreg'ers and Character Death'ers. I do like a little D.R.A.M.A. DRAMA!, so expect some of that ;) Eventually, Kurtofsky (maybe) but until then, Karofsky with a side of Klaine. It depresses me that I know all these tags and categories already._

**I**

Dave had to look twice, peering closer at his laptop screen as if it were deceiving him somehow.

There it was, among the deluge of spam and crappy porno forward mails from Azimio and the other jocks: _Kurt Hummel added you as a friend on Facebook_.

He sat back and ran a large hand across his face, thinking wildly. His first reaction was panic; that this was some trick, someone messing with him- but how? Who? Why? No-one knew about him- he hadn't seen any of the football guys for weeks. Santana? Their _faux_ relationship had similarly been on ice ever since the debacle at prom- with full access to Brittany Pierce restored, she had had no need of her beard for the moment.

The Facebook alert remained on his screen. It had been sent two days ago. He cursed inwardly, Hummel probably thought Dave had rejected his request, all the progress the two had made until Prom dismantled. He clicked the link embedded in the alert, and waited for his Facebook profile to load.

He never used his Facebook that much, well, until the prom campaign began and Santana has co-opted his profile for her assault on the Prom King and Queen crowns. It still stood there- the lie- _Dave Karofsky is in a relationship with Santana Lopez_. He had about 40 or so 'friends'- mostly the football jocks and some of the Cheerios, also some of his relations from down south. His wall was littered with lame ass offers for Farmville and Mafia Wars, some football photos he'd been tagged in- the whole thing was about as representative of the real Dave Karofsky as a kid's finger painting was of real life. Even his profile picture was merely the McKinley Titans logo, and had been since he had joined the site.

Biting his lower lip, he searched and then clicked on requests, and there it was: _Kurt Hummel added you as a friend. __Accept? __Ignore?_

Below was a message from Fancy himself. Dave leaned forward to read the tiny electronic script, not noticing his hands trembling slightly.

_Hey Dave! Sorry if this seems unexpected, but I was wondering how you were getting on, and if you were having a good summer? We're heading off to Cleveland this Friday (I know, nothing but the most __exotic__ vacations for the Hummel-Hudsons, right!) to spend some time at Six Flags- Blaine is in the summer show there, and we haven't done the family vacation thing together yet, so it should be… interesting. Finn's also bringing Rachel Berry along, so that should make things even more… interesting D: … _

Despite himself, Dave smiled at Kurt's sentiments. He couldn't himself imagine anything less appealing than going on vacation with Rachel Berry. He continued reading.

_Anyway, I hope you're having a good summer so far, and not getting too stressed about, you know, stuff… Anyway, I guess the point of this is to say feel free to contact me via Facebook or even on my phone (numbers on my profile) if you want to talk or something. You've made such a lot of progress since the beginning of this year- I would hate for you to lose that for lack of someone to talk to. God, I sound like Miss Pillsbury now, though much better dressed and without the OCD ;) _

Dave grinned, thinking suddenly of their petite, basket case Guidance Counsellor

_Hope you're well and hope to chat soon, maybe? Kurt_

Dave slowly let out the breath he'd unconsciously been holding whilst reading Kurt's message, his brain was buzzing with questions already- chief among them: why?

The last contact he'd had with Kurt had been at that clusterfuck of a prom where he had been crowned King and Kurt, Queen- a practical joke by the student body. Kurt had taken it all in his stride amazingly- after a few tense moments, while Dave has simply stood by in silent shock. When the moment came for the two of them to dance (yet another disaster that moron Principal Figgins could have prevented) Dave fled the auditorium, unable to take Kurt's hand, or his suggestion to announce to the school that he was also gay.

That thought, that word, sent Dave's blood running cold. He gripped the edges of his desk and attempted to calm himself. The thought of what the school had done to Kurt being done to him made Dave feel lightheaded with fear. The whispers and the looks that would follow him in the halls, not to mention the locker room… Dave felt his throat constrict as his thoughts slid down in ever more panicked spirals.

Dave's screensaver flicked on, an image of the McKinley Titans football logo that began lazily gliding around the now darkened screen, which immediately helped suspend his thought spiral. Irritated, he thumbed the track pad and brought the screen to life again. _Get a handle on it, Karofsky, for God's sake_, he berated himself mentally. Kurt's message gleamed at him. _Accept?_ _Ignore?_ Given the hellish place his thoughts went at the thought of everything Kurt represented, the choice should be obvious.

Except, he couldn't ignore Kurt. Not now. The smaller boy intrigued him- that he would continue to even admit Dave existed after everything that had happened to him at Dave's hands was some sort of miracle to the football player. He couldn't ignore the thin thread of hope that Kurt offered him, and so what choice did he have but to accept. _Click. _He tapped the track pad.

Biting his lower lip in thought, he added a message in response:

_Hey Kurt, thanks for the add and the message. I'm not going to lie, I didn't think you'd want anything to do with me after what happened at Prom, but as usual Hummel, you are full of surprises ;) My summer is going ok so far- my dad and I are going down to Florida to see my Uncle, Aunt and cousins this weekend, then when we get back in two weeks, we start pre-season training again for football. It's my last year on the team so one more chance to get the scholarships I need for college, plus I'll probably need to work off a whole lot of barbecue from this vacation. It would be good to chat I guess- I haven't really summoned the balls to confront all of my shit, and you're still the only other gay guy I know, so I really appreciate your time, though I know I hardly deserve it. Here's my number in case you want to add it on your phone (456-838-5878) so you don't get spooked if I text you or anything. Have fun at Six Flags- it's great there, we went a few summers ago. Just make sure you take some mosquito repellant, otherwise the bugs will drive you crazy. Then again, I guess you have Berry for that ;) Enjoy, and chat soon. Dave._

He edited, and re-edited the message about four times- trying to get the grammar and tone correct. Each time, he got a little more flustered, and frustrated at that, so in the end he hit _Accept_ and suddenly he and Kurt Hummel were friends on Facebook. Needing to cool down a little, he closed the browser, shut his laptop and left his room to go find something to drink in the fridge downstairs.

_Dave Karofsky is now friends with Kurt Hummel._


	3. Not the sort of guy

Dave is not the sort of guy who hangs onto his thoughts and feelings. In fact, he would be hard pressed to explain his feelings on anything at any given moment to anyone, much less himself. He's not stupid- no-one else on the hockey team can crack a complex equation, or list the Presidents since Washington with the ease Dave Karofsky can, but he doesn't broadcast that fact, as much as no-one on the hockey team, nor the football team for that matter, actually knows Dave is a bit of a maths and history nerd. None of it is worth dwelling on.

So where _did_ it all get so fucked up? When? It all used to be so easy, as he and Z muscled their way up the social ladder at McKinley, slushies and swirlies delivered fresh to all in their path. It was hockey practice and football practice, Xbox and weights in the gym, school and pizza and hanging out. Beer. OK, there were girls too, well, talk of girls. It was all so mindless- blissfully easy.

He stands in the choir room now, pale and drawn, before the Glee Club, Principal Figgins at his side. Figgy might be the only person on his side actually- the rest of the club is staring daggers at him. Like literally attempting to murder him with their eyes…okay, except Santana- but he can physically see the script she wrote running through her mind. Dave's welfare is the last thing on her mind. His performance is front and centre.

As Figgins demands and cajoles their audience, and the club huff and puff about Dave's presence, he surveys them quickly. The gang's all here- Schuester- watching him carefully, Hudson, Puckerman, Chang, that new kid Evans, even Artie in his wheelchair. His _supposed_ 'team-mates'- though it's all they can do to look at him on the field, much less follow Coach Beiste's directives to play alongside him.

The ladies: the Ice Queen, Quinn Fabray, that weirdo Rachel Berry, Santana and Brittany. Chang's girlfriend- Toni? Tina! That fat girl on the wrestling team who's _crazy_ strong, and the other one, Kurt's friend… Mercedes…

Except his mental roll call stops on the name before hers. Kurt. That's where it all went so wrong.

Kurt _fucking_ Hummel.


	4. 1916

I

Kurt struggles up the hill of mud towards the flickering summit, deafened by the roars and screams of the mortars and bullets flying around him, despite the protection of his helmet. He trips and lurches to his knees several times on his ascent- partially due to his panicked haste, but mostly due to the shattered, shrieking darkness around him obscuring the landscape of dead branches, coils of barbed wire and stiff limbs of half-submerged corpses obscuring his path to the top.

'David!' he screams into the melee, though he knows he won't be heard. He yells again, determined to try stamp something of his will, of his need to find his lost comrade, onto the madness surrounding them. In the distance, muzzles flash and the roaring landscape is suddenly incandesced by a mortar firing. Instinctively, Kurt staggers for cover behind the carcass of a vehicle close to his position

A tall, broad figure, dark and sodden, lurches out at him suddenly from the shadows of the upturned truck. Kurt yelps with fright, another sound lost to the shrieking air, until, in a mortar flash he catches a gleam of hazel in the darkened face coming at him.

'David!' he yells again, grabbing at the man, clutching at all of him and pulling him in behind the vehicle. He can neither hear, nor properly see his friend, but he can feel, through the cold and damp fabric between them how David's chest is heaving, his mighty arms now coiled around Kurt as though clinging to a life raft.

He searches the face before him, and notices a trickling gleam on David's cheeks. Sobbing with relief himself, he pulls the helmeted head of the larger man down to his chest, as the two of them sink to their knees in the mire of their cover, uniforms and rifles streaked with mud and remains.

David shakes, locked in Kurt's embrace, and as the minutes pass and the night air screams with death, the same three words coil endlessly through both of their weary minds:_ I found you. _

Eventually, Kurt stirs, followed by David. The firing seems to have lulled, though the wind is still howling, accompanied the occasional roar of a plane surging overhead. They pull back slightly and look at each other, arms still locked together. Their training speaks calmly to all their fears, and they know what to do- Kurt's pale eyes transmit certainty, and David- his panic passed- knows to follow him down the hill and back to their position. Mud-streaked hands clasped, they stagger to their feet, still covered by the vehicle shell beside them.

Slowly, carefully the two begin to descend through the mire, their way illuminated occasionally by the glare of a mortar exploding.


	5. Mein Herr

**I**

Dave has seen this face on Kurt before. Misery and fury tightly wrapped in imperious, impenetrable marble. Except the last time he was the cause of that look. In his memory, blazing blue eyes bore into his and accusations fly at him like high-pitched darts. _How extraordinarily ordinary you are._

He shakes that bird of thought from its perch, and watches Kurt, who has taken his position near the piano, holding onto the back of a chair before him. Kurt is watching his assembled audience, but doesn't meet their eyes. Classic thousand-yard stare. Aside from a murmured request to Mr. Schue to perform an impromptu number, Kurt hasn't said a word.

A black felt bowler hat is tilted on his auburn head, a soft, clingy grey vest subtly accents his black shirt and skinny black jeans. His eyes are like ice, cold and emotionless. The choir room goes silent then, like a forest anticipating a deluge. He nods at Brad, and the music begins. Out of the corner of his eye Dave sees Rachel Berry stiffen in a quiet gasp. Kurt takes a breath and finally meets their eyes.

_You have to understand the way I am, Mein Herr, _he croons flatly,_  
>A tiger is a tiger, not a lamb, Mein Herr.<br>You'll never turn the vinegar to jam, Mein Herr._

Dave doesn't know the song- and whatever it is, Kurt isn't singing it to them, but at them. His eyes have lit up as if the focus of his fury was sitting before him, his counter-tenor ringing with barely suppressed vitriol. As he sings, his head tilts over his shoulder as if inviting any one of them to argue. Then, lightly, he drops to the chair, and continues:

_So I do.  
>What I do.<br>When I'm through.  
>Then I'm through.<br>And I'm through. _A pause…

_Toodle-oo!_He wiggles his fingers at them coyly, then slowly rises from the seat and straddles it, catlike.

_Bye-Bye, mein Liebe Herr._

_Farewell, mein Liebe Herr._

_It was a fine affair,_

_But now it's over…_

Dave is mesmerized, as is the entire room, though he doesn't notice, his attention fixed on Kurt. With every surge of the music, and clatter of the drums, Kurt moves, swaying and striking like a wounded serpent, using the chair and his body like a weapon. Dimly, at the back of his brain, Dave realizes his mouth is hanging open.

_And though I used to care,  
>I need the open air.<br>You're better off without me,  
>Mein Herr.<em>

As the song progresses, so it speeds up, as Kurt dances, moves and yelps out his fury at what Blaine has done to him. Dave sometimes feels he's too new in the New Directions to have been of much help to Kurt after the break up- not that he'd been excluded, not by a long shot- but he didn't really know how to _be_ there for Kurt, beyond the usual macho posturing he had in his repertoire. It felt rotten, since Kurt had defied all others' expectations and been there for Dave throughout his coming out to friends and family and subsequent entry into the glee club.

_Don't dab your eye, mein Herr,  
>Or wonder why, Mein Herr.<br>I've always said that I was a rover…  
><em>

It had all been so remarkably non-eventful. His parents had accepted him without question, the footballers and hockey team needed his skills and his strength more than they were prepared to grumble about his sexuality, and the rest of the school was indifferent- just as Kurt has once suggested they might be, Irony of ironies, it was the glee club that had been the toughest sell on Dave Karofsky 2.0.

_You mustn't knit your brow,  
>You should have known by now<em>

_You'd every cause to doubt me,  
>Mein, Herr.<em>

Despite all the faith that Kurt has displayed in him since his return from Dalton, the rest of the group had been slower to fully accept his presence in the choir room, the shadow of his former self still loomed in their memories. Time and effort, and lots of singing, had taken their toll- and in any case, when Kurt's relationship with Blaine imploded, the entire club had closed around Kurt like a protective shell as the full extent of the Warbler's treachery became apparent, Dave included.

_Bye-Bye, Mein Liebe Herr.  
>Farewell, mein Liebe Herr.<br>It was a fine affair,  
>But now it's over.<em>

Dave hadn't joined the club to be a star. The last thing he wanted was to stand out, despite Kurt and Mr. Schue's- and strangely, Rachel's of late, near constant urging to step out of his shell and display the vocal talents they knew he possessed. Unlike Rachel and Kurt and some of the others, he was happy to be a chorus member, not a soloist. He was a team player at heart, and dutifully prepared the song assignments Mr. Schue gave them, even if they required him to sing on his own. Soon enough he learned whose voices his own harmonized with best, and his quiet perseverance with the music earned him a few willing musical companions, should the need arise.

_And though I used to care,  
>I need the open air.<br>You're better off without me,  
>Mein Herr.<em>

He and Kurt had even won the duets competition that year with their rendition of _You and Me (But Mostly Me) _from _Book of Mormon_- the only Broadway musical Dave could claim he even liked. "_South Park…" _Kurt had sniffed. Content aside, Kurt had been impressed enough by Dave's attitude to try it- and _voila_, two tickets to Breadstix for Elder Price and Elder Cunningham. Dave had sheepishly (and in his heart of hearts, grudgingly) offered his half of the voucher to Kurt for he and Blaine to use. Kurt's smile and smooth, cool arms on his neck as he hugged Dave in thanks had been compensation enough for the gesture. More than enough.  
><em><br>Don't dab your eye, mein Herr,  
>Or wonder why, Mein Herr.<br>I've always said that I was a rover._

Kurt was writhing over the chair rapidly now, peppering the room with bullets of song. As he swung his leg over the chair and dipped backwards, stretching his torso- a pale slice of stomach suddenly appeared, like a silver crescent moon/ Momentarily it gleamed, then was gone, as Kurt swung around into the next position, eyes and voice blazing. Dave registered something else as he took this in… a tightening around his crotch. _Fuck, not now!_ He didn't look away though. God himself could not have commanded Dave to look away now.

_You mustn't knit your brow,  
>You should have known by now<br>You'd every cause to doubt me,  
>Mein, Herr.<em>

So Dave had continued to play in the chorus supporting Kurt post-Blaine. He still chaperoned Kurt to many of his classes as a Bully-Whip (though finally divested of that awful jacket and beret, at Kurt's insistence), and kept an eye on him from the cloud of jocks he ate lunch with in the cafeteria, if not at the Glee table, where he maintained a safe distance among the other guys. He had even sat with Kurt as he sobbed one afternoon in the parking lot, having found some Blaine-related thing buried in his car. There they sat on the curb as Kurt shook with tears, face buried in Dave's football jersey, Dave's grass stained arm curled around his friend's shoulders.

_Bye-Bye, Mein Liebe Herr;  
>Farewell, mein Liebe Herr.<br>It was a fine affair,  
>But now it's over.<em>

Eventually Finn arrived from the locker room and wordlessly, but gently, took over, assisting Kurt into the vehicle and moving to the driver's side. He offered Dave a wordless, lop-sided smile in gratitude before leaving him there next to the curb, holding the cursed Blaine-thing as he took his distraught step-brother home. Dave sat on the curb for a further five minutes, motionless, watching where Kurt's van had disappeared from view. When he eventually came to, and struggled to his feet, he found he had fractured the monogrammed comb inside his fist into several pieces. _  
><em>

_And though I-  
>Used to care,<br>I need the-  
>Open air.<br>_

A whoop jolts him from his reverie. Santana? He glances quickly at the rest of the New Directions- who are beaming! Rachel and Mercedes have smug grins plastered across their faces as their eyes shine. Sam, Mike- even Puck look on, fiercely proud, grinning. Confused, Dave turns his gaze back to Kurt, and sees the change he's missed in his daydreaming. Kurt shakes, shimmies and flips around the chair as vigorously as he had been the whole number, but his face is alight- his grin fierce and his eyes also shining. _He's winning_, thinks Dave suddenly, as a smile creeps across his face. _Whatever he's fighting, he's kicking its ass!_

_You're better off without me,  
>You're better without me,<br>You're better without me_

As the song peaks into its finale, Kurt, sweaty and exhilarated, fixes Dave with a fierce grin, and their eyes lock.

_Bye bye…_

Kurt sweeps the hat from his head, and flings it,

_Mein Herr…_

Dave feels the hat land lightly in his lap, he looks down briefly, eyes wide, and then up again. As Kurt wails on the final note, and the club leaps to their feet whooping and clapping, Dave only feels the softness of the hat in his lap, and the intensity of Kurt's blue eyes on him, as his own grin illuminates his face and a blush creeps up his neck.

_Mein Herr… _

Blaine who?

* * *

><p><em>The song (of course) is 'Mein Herr' from <span>Cabaret<span>, and the version I have in mind (of course) is the incomparable Sally Bowles of Liza Minelli. No (c) infringement intended (of course)._


End file.
